


And Then... He Leaves

by MadameMorganLeFay



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3515366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMorganLeFay/pseuds/MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>So here you are.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Pittsburgh Airport. You could barely see the sign under glaring street lamps and you cursed at every red light, but Justin doesn’t seem to mind. He stares out the window, dreaming of the opportunity spread before him. Simple problems like the weather won’t distract him when he’s leaving for New York City. His future for now and forever.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then... He Leaves

** ~ooooOOOOoooo~ **

_So here you are._

_Pittsburgh Airport. You could barely see the sign under glaring street lamps and you cursed at every red light, but Justin doesn’t seem to mind. He stares out the window, dreaming of the opportunity spread before him. Simple problems like the weather won’t distract him when he’s leaving for New York City. His future for now and forever._

_A pang of envy slices through your stomach as you remember this was once **your** dream, your life’s work. You’d been preparing for New York ever since setting foot in Pittsburgh as a teenager; it was that fucking suit from the Advertising Awards who watered the seed. He promised you a job, recognition- everything you strived for. After that, you were unstoppable; New York was going to be yours, dammit; fuck your lifelong friends and Pittsburgh’s cosy familiarity._

_But you know how the story ends, falling headlong for the money, fortune and fame, then waking up to smell the garbage. Turns out Pittsburgh was your destiny after all. You’d wake in the same bed, drink the same coffee, shout at the same employee and dance at the same clubs until God knows when. And the Statue of Liberty, Manhattan and Times Square would never know you existed. Sure, it wouldn’t take much to call in sick and hitch a ride over there- takes less than an hour, in fact! But it wouldn’t be the same; you planned to wake up to the screech of traffic and drive to office in a Jag, drinking overpriced coffee._

  _A visit couldn’t live up to life in New York._

  _Justin gets everything you ever dreamed of. He’ll make good use of it; you’ve never allowed him to squander any opportunity that came his way. How many other young men and women dream of breaking into the art world? More than he cares to count. Justin knows this too, that’s why he wouldn’t show you the article about himself in that magazine. He thinks he’s too fortunate to be recognized for his talents and doesn’t trust anyone since the Hollywood debacle. Still, you let him think what he wants; he’s too modest, and that won’t get him anywhere. He’d better just accept he’s a fucking genius, that other work pales in comparison to his raw vision and depth of feeling._

  _You think so, anyway._

  _So now the only obstacle is overcoming your hollow heart whilst you watch him walk further away into forever. There’s a lump in your throat, so you don’t trust yourself to speak- but he’d going to want to hear some kind of “goodbye”, isn’t he? You wish you’d brought a fucking automated message so he can’t hear your own voice quiver and crack like glass._

  _After all this time, did the strange alliance Justin called “a relationship” really work? Yes- it worked for five years. And no… you two were a train wreck- for five years. Make your fucking mind up! No… perhaps the mystery of Brian and Justin makes more sense when no one tries to get into your head. God knows the absurd confusion up there- actually, He probably doesn't. You need someone to say “Let there be light… and there was light.” And then a shrink could question you to death and finally figure out the enigma that is Brian Kinney._

  _Until then, you’re doomed to over think until you go west._

  _Justin… Sometimes you watch him, and think “Why?” It’s not the physique, its not the hair, or the ass, like everyone seems to assume. You just let them think that because its easier to pretend you understand the chemistry. Sexual reasons sound better. People respect you then. But you know you could find a decent ass in Babylon any day. Not even that ridiculous toothpaste smile drew you in. What, then? What made you get from throwing him out, to letting him burrow into your life and make his absence felt? Why were there days where you’d wake to find his face buried in your arm and nights where you tumbled into bed, lost in each other?_

  _In other words, “What the fuck?!”_

  _He’s a crafty little shit. Pretending to be an innocent little sap- but you know better now. Way too late, though. Looking back, you understand his persistence; he tried hacking into your heart and banged into a stone wall. You forced him to retreat. You humiliated him on several occasions. But Justin Taylor never gives up- just like his mom keeps saying about the damn two-wheeler. Now every time you see Justin achieve something, you think “two-wheeler”. And the greatest “two-wheeler” was chipping away at your defences, creating too many cracks for you to mend in time._

  _So, gradually, you surrendered._

  _Your last vestige of power lay in marking him as yours._

  _Actually, you were his._

** ~ooooOOOOoooo~ **

 

“I hope I can visit the Guggenheim… That was always my dream. But… I suppose I will have to find a real job first.”

 “Welcome to Planet Earth.” Brian drummed his fingers at the wheel, wondering how long this  good bye would last. So far, he had managed the drive well and Justin seemed happy to sit in silence. Others might have found it awkward, but they knew silence actually solved many of their problems. Talking did the opposite, and meaningful conversations made him laugh. So he just tuned into a metal rock station on the radio and let the discordant notes carry him all the way to the brink of forever. “In the eternal game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, money beats museum.”

 Justin chuckled. “I like that. You know, you’re very philosophical. I’d chalk it down to years of ingesting questionable substances. Weed makes everyone else dumb as two thick ones, but you seem to gain ten IQ points...”

“I’ll take that for the insult it was,” he replied, not even noting Justin’s amusement. Not when the he artificial lamp lights signalling the barrier between the tarmac and the road reminded him of the path awaiting him. Back to his Loft. His life. 

 “Hey- it was an insult interspersed with compliments! There’s just no pleasing you, is there?”

 “Well, for the record, you’re a pretty lucid drunk, too. If I ever die of alcoholism, it will be from listening to you wax lyrical about Surrealist Art whilst making your sweet way through a bottle of red.”

 But Justin only laughed, swatting his arm. “God, you’re an asshole!”

 A loaded comment. Brian almost expected him to say, _“At least I won’t have to put up with you anymore, now that I’m off to New York!”_ Christ, did that _hurt!_ He wanted to hit something, smash something fragile against a wall to release his pain. _“God, you’re an asshole!”_ Yes. He was the world’s leading authority on assholery- the fucking King of assholes. And knowing this, _feeling_ the consequences of it made him sick.

 Why didn’t Justin just pack his stuff and run from the car? Why couldn’t they just end the gentle insults and fast-forward into their own lives,finally separate? Wasn’t there some kind of spell that could make you forget people, places… Maybe a whole five years? His family? Pittsburgh? The pathetic failure called _“Brian’s life?”_

 “Well,” he continued, before Justin could find something equally witty to say. “What do you plan to do when you… get there?”

 “I told you; visit the Guggenheim.”

 “No… I mean the very first thing- literally- as you climb off the plane.”

 “Umm…” He watched Justin’s face go through an interesting set of contortions as he considered. “I know! I’ll find the nearest eat-out place and buy something giant and sugary for an exorbitant price. Something with Smarties, chocolate, raisins- the works!”

 For the first time that night, Brian smiled a little… and only just stopped himself from reaching out to stroke Justin’s hair in response.

 “Of course; the high sugar carbs. You didn’t tell me your other ambition was to develop diabetes in New York!”

 “Well, I guess you’ve found me out! I had to use the art as a legitimate cover for my secret motive.”

 “Well, keep me updated when they give you an insulin needle and have to amputate your limbs. I’ll pay your extensive hospital bills as a gesture of goodwill.”

 “Would you still love me if I had no arms and legs?”

 He paused, then whispered, “Yeah…” And then louder, “Got your passport?”

 Time to get down to business. Somehow, he’d manage this dramatic exit with all the dignity he could muster. There’d be no cliche’s, or kissing, or _“I’ll write to you every day”_ bullshit. He never made promises he couldn’t keep and the fuck was he going to commit to any of the above! _You can do this, Kinney. In fact, you’ll fucking make an art out of this. And you’ll drive off back to life because you can.  Feel miserable? Put a spin on it. It’s just withdrawal symptoms; you’ll get over them._

 He’d no choice.

 “What kind of question is that, _“have I got my passport”_ \- of course, I’ve fucking got it! What were you expecting me to say? _I’ve thrown it into the Susquehanna?!_ Look--”

 “—Got all your kit, then?”

 “Brian--”

 “—And your airplane ticket?”

 “Brian!”

  _Busted._ Grimacing, he turned his head slightly, then withdrew it, frightened of what he might find in Justin’s expression. “What?”

 “Stop doing that!The whole martyred thing. The _“I’m sacrificing my love for your own good”_ bullshit. Get real! I’m not flying off to Mars here!” He sighed, shaking his head. “For God’s sake, Brian are you trying to start an argument _now_?”

 He didn’t quite know what to say. Eventually, he tried a defenceless “No.”

 “Good. Because that’s the kind of shit that’s going to make me glad I’m leaving.”

  _Ouch!!!_ But outside, Brian only nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”

 “But I don’t want to leave on such a sour note; I mean, not after everything we’ve been through together. I’d even forgive you for the times you made life so difficult if you weren’t hell-bent on ruining things for me now to protect yourself… Have you any idea how arrogant the whole selfless thing is?”

 Brian shrank into his leather and didn’t respond. Arrogant or not, he couldn’t change himself fast enough. Probably didn’t even know how to, although he’d done a brilliant job of pretending back when…

 Back when they were going to get married. Four weeks ago. Four fucking weeks for his life to swing from the warmest of summers to a blizzard, with him stranded in the dark.

 Stranded and his only source of light gone.

 “But you know what?” Justin continued, “I’ll miss you, quirks, pains and all. And I think that despite everything… a part of me will always--”

  _No! Don’t say it!_ “--Is this little speech going to wind up lasting until the Apocalypse or are you saving that for later?”

 Justin shook his head again, giving up. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath.

 

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

  _Justin won’t shed any tears._

  _After all, he isn’t in love with you anymore. The days of blind hero worship are nothing but a footnote in history, and although you’re torn up inside…  Well, maybe this new-found dynamic between you might be best in the long run. Now you’ve had time to think, carrying the burden of his feelings on your shoulders was strenuous beyond belief. You always thought emotional attachment was no picnic…_

  _Then you found out that emotional attachment was no picnic._

  _God! You’ve got to think about someone else twenty-four seven; their needs, desires. You become hyper aware of your own shortcomings, living in mortal fear of being shown up as incompetent. Every action requires thought, and if you screw up, it’s YOUR fault, and no one gives you the benefit of the doubt._

  _Not even your best friend._

  _"He left because of YOU!! Who wouldn’t??”_

  _With friends like that, who needs enemies? You only trust your insecurity and wonder why this shit couldn’t just happen to someone else. Your middle name isn’t “capable”- for years, you’ve been convinced the “A” stood for “Asshole”, if not “antagonistic”. Emotional attachment ravages you like the plague and you still cling to it because its Death dressed up in seductive feelings of belonging, happiness. The idea of being treasured by someone else, and doing your best to give back._

  _Then when your back is turned, she strikes._

  _How your blood boiled when Justin defied you, or shared himself with others! Like King of Babylon 2000, or the misadventure with “The Sap”, or “Rage”, or… yes, The Fiddler._

  _Try as you might, you will never quite get over that little episode. It’s always there, lurking in the recesses of your mind, feeding on your insecurity. Of course, you won’t blame him for leaving; you admire his defiance, even though it crippled your confidence. For weeks, fags giggled about THAT night in Babylon, delighted to see you frozen like an icicle, speechless as Justin dumped you._

  _And if they knew of the sleepless nights when you wondered whether he’d ever come back to you, and others where you admitted he was as good as gone- no doubt, they’d have laughed even harder. There were moments you could barely think and others where you insisted on leaving the past behind. Times when you wanted to strangle the fiddler and others where you hoped he would make Justin happy._

  _In the end, he admitted to his mistake and crawled back to you. Just like always. You should have resisted- shown him you couldn’t be played like a fiddle… So to speak._

  _But the rest is history. Bankruptcy and cancer seemed unable to disturb you._

  _Then Hollywood burst on the scene. Or, as you call it, the beginning of the end. Funny how most see Hollywood as a new life altogether, the place to make your name. But you’ve got to sacrifice something for that. In Justin’s case, you were the casualty. You spent weeks missing him to death. Your hand hovered over the phone every so often, dying to hear his voice. Otherwise, you spent time obsessing over his possible fuck buddies, what they looked like, whether Justin would fall for them and never return to Pittsburgh._

  _True, he sounded bright on the phone, but you didn’t put that note of optimism there. His new life held more excitement than you could ever hope to provide. After all, he’d only say “Hi”, and then launch into a “You’ll never guess what…” or “Los Angeles is amazing”, or “I’m so excited to be here!” How could your life in provincial Pittsburgh ever live up to the glamour of LA? And how could he ever see his home town- and you- in the same light after rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous?_

  _So when he claimed a couple of weeks might turn into three months, you made conclusions. He wouldn’t return; you’d lost him._

  _Even when he did return, he just wanted to know whether “the offer still stands”- just like the student loan debacle. In other words, “you’re my last resort if everything else goes tits up”. Brian Kinney became a consolation prize._

  _Things changed after that._

  _Sure, the fucking continued to be great. But you kept asking yourself; if it wasn’t, would Justin even bother anymore? His life no longer revolved around you. He carved out his own space, spending more time away from you. Any time you spent together didn’t last long, and mainly consisted of sex. For the first time, you couldn’t help but long for a little conversation here and there, a little of the play-fighting you used to enjoy. But he grew restless. You’d stopped being his primary source of entertainment, and now he needed compensation for the loss. He retreated into his art, hoping to find a cure. If you tried to intrude, or did something he didn’t like, he griped about it. His desire to understand you evaporated, leaving an unsympathetic glare in its stead._

  _He’d not been so distant since Fiddlergate, and it frightened you._

  _But as usual, you pretended not to see the signs… until he started dropping hints about monogamy and families. That’s when you knew. He didn’t want those things at all. He wanted OUT. And pretending to love Michael and Ben’s idyllic lifestyle would alienate you, giving him an excuse to leave. You wanted to tell him he could leave at any time, because it hurt like a motherfucker, hearing him LIE again! Why did he have to lie? Just say it; “I don’t love you anymore and I want to go!” How hard could it be?_

  _You barely knew the guy you’d fucked for five years any more._

  _The end approached, and if you weren’t careful, he’d hop off without a word, this time. So YOU had to be the one to push him away, not the other way around._

  _It was easy; longer nights at Babylon, more tricking, and that embarrassing competition with Brandon. You had your own reasons too- age. Every morning you woke up, scouring your face for any sign of the Apocalypse- but even if you walked away satisfied, the number thirty-four did not lie. Thirty four, meant thirty-five in a year’s time. The age they called a man’s peak. After that, everything supposedly went downhill. Soon, Botox treatments wouldn’t be enough, would they? He’d shrivel up and have to move state, wouldn’t he?_

  _Justin, of course, didn’t want to know._

  _Still, when the end came, he was kind enough to hug you, as though he hadn’t meant to leave you stranded. Nothing felt real after that._

  _You’d switch on the TV, stare, and then switch it off, or pick up a glass before realizing it was empty or buying a bottle of bubbly to take home and then remembering you’d no one to share it with._

  _Suddenly, everyone had to pay for your loneliness. You wrecked your friendship with Michael- and though that ferocious argument was in the past, things hadn’t been the same since. The friendship still existed, but its essential intimacy died that night. Michael had found his voice and used it to break away from your side; he didn’t want to be your toy any more._

  _No one did._

 

** ~ooooOOOOoooo~ **

 

“Actually,” Justin announced, “It wouldn’t hurt to still stay in contact every now and again, would it? I mean, you will want to know when I get a break, won’t you?”

 “Maybe.”

 “Oh, don’t be like that- look, I’m sorry for calling you an asshole, if that’s the reason you’re so withdrawn and taciturn tonight! Besides, there’s no way you can just sever connections with me so easily: I know your PIN number, remember?”

 He knew Justin was smiling, but ignored the bait. “I think you should… you should _go_ now,” he managed, keeping his eyes straight ahead, his voice toneless. “Whilst you still can…”

 “Seriously? You’re throwing me out, just like that?!”

 “Yes. Go.”

 “If we never--”

 “Can you not start an epic speech right now? Come on, your… your flight takes off pretty… pretty _soon_ …”

 He breathed in quickly, knuckles white hot against the steering wheel. Hell, he’d push Justin out the car if necessary, as long as he simply _disappeared, for Christ’s sakes! Don’t make this any worse than it has to be!_

 “Oh fuck you; I’ve got three quarters of an hour yet…” Justin argued, but his voice held no conviction, “But... if you’re really want me to go, then... I will.”

 “Yes, that’s what I want.”

 He tried not to swivel to his side to gauge Justin’s reaction- an educated guess said they were both pretending not to care, but… However cruel he sounded, the means justified the end. _You have to be cruel to be kind. And I want to be kind to you.... I really do._

 “Alright then,” Justin whispered so softly he could barely hear it- although Brian could detect a slight waver in his voice. “You’ll never stop making things difficult for yourself, so… I’ll go. G-Goodbye.”

 Brian bit his lips hard, squeezing his eyes shut.

 “Yeah… Goodbye.”

 

** ~ooooOOOOoooo~ **

  _You aren’t about to cry, are you?_

  _Of course not. Brian Kinney never cries- that would mean he had a heart… Nonsense, of course. Setbacks never scare him. He picks himself up, constructs a wall of indifference, then heads down to Babylon for a mindless fuck. And somehow or another, you’ll figure out how to forget the last five years, and survive._

  _You’ve got no choice, else you’d have nothing left._

  _As expected, a tiny glimmer of hope sneaks into your brain, suggesting in gleeful tones that you might open the door one distant day to find him smiling up at you, ready to return home. A happily ever after._

  _A pile of bullshit. You don’t know anything, neither does he. A month becomes several becomes a year. Then the great“never again” rears its head- a concept so vast, so frightening you can’t help but shiver in your warm Corvette. “Never again” implies years, which in turn explores the unavoidable fact that you aren’t getting any younger. Suddenly, you examine the question of your own mortality. When, where, how will you die… and will Justin be there?_

  _God!_

  _You shudder, and refocus on the steering wheel. It wouldn’t take a minute to drive the wrong way, smash into a lorry and end it all. Why not?_

  _No, that’s selfish. Perhaps when you were thirty, full of melodramatic anguish about life, you wouldn’t have minded, but now… There’s complications; Gus and Lindsay… maybe even Mel and her spawn, Michael, Theodore, Emmett, Deb- god, she’d go beserk… No, he can’t entertain the idea of taking the cheap path to Hell._

  _And Justin would never know until too late._

  _When you glance back at him, he’s already gotten out of the car._

 

** ~ooooOOOOoooo~ **

 

Brian sat frozen for a moment, not processing what had happened.

  _Justin… he…_

 Blood roared in his ears, his shoulders tensed up. For a moment, he could barely see ahead of him, until he recognized the swift patter of rain from outside.

 As though the night wept for Justin’s departure.

 Oh _God_ …  Why had he been so harsh, so insistent on breaking things off without thinking that Justin would not bother to fight back anymore, not when they wouldn’t see each other again? He could have said something to soothe the yawning hole inside him- though he’d no idea what manner of words could resurrect a dead plant, make a desert fertile again. No, more likely, he’d have resorted to actions, craving one more kiss. He wanted to tangle his fingers in Justin’s hair, pull him close, inhaling his scent, and…

 And whisper those three precious words into his ear as they inevitably parted.

 Now, it was too late.

 So this was it, the final separation. First, he lost Lindsay to Canada, and with her, Gus, the baby he’d created by jerking off into a cup. The tiny bundle he’d thought inconvenient for a while until he looked into miniature hazel eyes matching his own and felt pure, unexpected love blossom in his heart.  But just as he realized he’d never spent enough time with his son- snap- off he went. Most of his friends lived domesticated lives in Planet Suburbia where everyone’s garden looked the same and the neighbours spent their lives inviting each other to tea.

 Now, the only person he dared think of as something more than yesterday’s fuck had also made his exit... just as he asked.

 Somewhere- yes, there- Justin made his way towards the terminal… without a second glance. With each step, the rain fell harder, obscuring his vision; it’d only be a matter of time before the last lights blew out, and he’d have to drive home. Home- was there even such a place now? Over the years, four walls and a floor had melted into one person whose absence crippled him, made him question his sanity.

 No, home did not exist.

 So he wouldn’t run after Justin- for once, he stuck to his rules. Let him go. He might have been many things during their relationship, but he’d never stood in Justin’s way, not even if his inaction killed him inside. So he leaned back in the car seat, watching until the lone figure became a smudge between lamp lights and the rain… Until he was gone.  

 “Goodbye, Sunshine,” he murmured tearing his gaze away for the final time.

 And he turned on the ignition and drove off into his past, present and future.

 Alone. 

 

** ~ooooOOOOoooo~ **


End file.
